On Holiday
by Falco aesalon
Summary: A snippet from Holmes's journal tells the details of a seaside holiday.  But will it go sour?  And what about the quality of the hotel's cuisine?  Rating for somewhat amusing dog antics.  NO SLASH.


A/N: As I said, this was written for Gandalfia on deviantART. (Go check out her stuff sometime.) We were having a conversation on her art (the one titled suuuuuuuumer) and we were talking about what a sunburn Holmes was going to have. (especially since he's supposed to be so pale)

I couldn't find anything about Victrian era sunburn remedies, so I had to guess here. I apologize for any other factual errors that may be in the story. I've never been sunburned (yet) so I hope I've described the effects reasonably accurately.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters,Gandalfia first mentioned the idea, I do not make any money from this, etc., etc. So without further ado...

...

{Holmes PoV}

"Do hold still, Holmes!"

"Ow, Watson!"

"Sorry, old chap. But it wouldn't hurt so much if you would just stop squirming!"

I had, and not for the first time, found myself in a rather humiliating position. Though, I suppose ought to tell my story from the beginning and not get in the habit of telling it backwards the way some of my clients do.

...

It started with a short holiday to the seaside. It was, of course, all Watson's idea and as I had no case at the time of this misadventure, I agreed to join him. Watson had sprung this on me one August morning, and I admit I was pleasantly surprised.

The train ride took fifty-seven minutes to go bad. I was on my way back to our compartment from the lavatory, when I met a young lady coming the other way. I turned to the side to allow her to pass, when she asked me "Are you Mister Sherlock Holmes?"

"Indeed I am," I replied. [1]

The expression on her face turned from inquiry to rage and she cried, "You put me brother in gaol!" She began hitting me 'round the head with her umbrella and pursued me back to my compartment. In the time it took to reach it, I had sustained several blows to the head, and one to a more... sensitive area.

When I had slid the compartment door shut, Watson asked, "What was that about?"

"The young lady claims I was responsible for landing her brother in gaol. I don't doubt it, though beating me about the head with an umbrella seems an odd way of settling the matter."

Upon arriving at our hotel, we found the wallpaper peeling, the furniture nearly falling apart, and my room looked like it hadn't been dusted in years. Unfortunately, it was the only hotel in the small village, so we decided to make the best of the situation.

We were sitting in the sun together later that afternoon, Watson admiring the ocean view, I myself never having been able to appreciate nature after several rather traumatic experiences, one involving the family dog and a rather unfortunate rabbit. But I digress.

Watson had seen fit to bring his bull pup, Gladstone. Or perhaps I should say, "Gladstone the Second."

As we were watching the seagulls, we heard a horrible squawking sound and a dog barking. It was coming from the other side of the hotel. We rounded the corner, only to find Gladstone the Second playing with a rather lifeless seagull [2]. Watson, of course, berated the dog for such a terrible act, and I found myself saddled with the job of burying the poor bird.

We sat out a while longer before going inside to a rather boring supper of bread and cheese (I decided against eating the latter, as I was sure it was not supposed to have fuzzy blue and gray spots on it.)

When we retired to our separate rooms, I confess I had trouble sleeping on the bed (to call it lumpy would have been an understatement). When I finally did fall asleep, I woke to a loud crash and the sensation that one has just fallen on a somewhat soft surface.

My mind quickly analyzed my surroundings. I was not in Baker Street. It was dark, I was lying on an extremely lumpy bed, I was closer to the floor than one should be when sleeping on a normal bed, the air was dusty, the room's wallpaper was peeling, and it all snapped into place. The bed I had been sleeping on had fallen under my weight (though I do not consider myself a heavy man). I would be having a word with the owner about this first thing this morning.

I spent the rest of the night sitting on the bed smoking my pipe until dawn. I found my way into Watson's room and sat, waiting for him to wake.

At nine o'clock, I shook Watson gently to wake him.

Watson yawned. "Good morning, Holmes! Have you been up long?"

"No," I automatically replied, casually smoking my pipe. [3] I considered myself a good liar, though when I was young, my mother seemed to be the only human being who could see through my lies... and was the only person I'd ever needed to lie to on a regular basis.

After breakfast (I thought the coffee would be put to better use in watering the wilted flowers outside and Gladstone would enjoy the toast more than I), Watson asked me if I wanted to go swimming with him.

"No, Watson," I said, "I don't particularly enjoy swimming."

"Why not, Holmes?"

"My family went on holiday to the seaside one summer. My cousin Orion told me tales of sea monsters and giant man-eating fish living in the ocean, and he nearly had me convinced they were real. When we were swimming, he dragged me underwater by the ankle, and I admit I panicked, but who wouldn't? I daresay I deserved it though, after putting spiders in his soup."

At this, Watson laughed. "That's quite a story, Holmes."

"Yet a true story, all the same."

"You don't have to come with me, Holmes."

"Nonsense, Watson."

"After the story you've just told me –"

"I'm coming."

We wasted perhaps half an hour arguing on the matter, until Watson gave in and allowed me to accompany him.

...

Watson took to swimming about like a fish, while I sat in an inner tube and watched [3].

We stayed on the ocean for hours, though I never did swim in it.

Late in the afternoon, I noticed that bits of skin were red and rather sensitive.

At dinner, Watson told me my face was red, and he thought I'd been sunburnt during our time on the ocean.

By eight o'clock, the red areas positively hurt.

Watson insisted on putting ointment on it, though it was hard to sit still.

And now we come to the point with which I started this story. I will not go into detail, but it will suffice to say that we returned to London the next morning, the train ride less eventful than the first, and I recovered at Baker Street. I took several "armchair cases," and would have taken more, but Watson insisted that I remain at Baker Street.

Some time after I recovered, when Watson mentioned the matter again (I will not say under what circumstances, as that is a story the world is not, and never will be, prepared to hear) I told him it was his fault, but looking back on this journal entry about the matter, I find that it was the product of my own stubborn nature. Of course, the world will never hear this story either, just as they will never hear the one Watson called "The Giant Rat of Sumatra." (I will never know why he chose that title, as neither Sumatra nor rats, especially giant rats, had much bearing on the case)

~Fin

[1] This situation is from the movie _Without a Clue_, but I wanted to put a canon Holmes in the situation just to see what would happen.

[2] Those who have listened to the Rathbone/Bruce radio shows may remember that Watson once said he caught the puppies playing with a dead seagull and they were sent to bed in disgrace. And in real life, Nigel Bruce did own four dachshunds...

[3] I hope Sadyna doesn't mind if I borrowed a bit of her dialogue from her comic strip _One Habit of Holmes_. (Go check it out if you haven't seen it yet)

[4] I have no idea if they had such things as inner tubes back then, but the picture where the idea came from has Holmes sitting in one, and it was so adorable, I just had to include something like it here. As for the "Watson Aquaphobia," I just can't see Watson with something like that (he's just too manly for phobias) And Holmes was maybe five years old when his bad experience happened, and, hey, that would really scare a five-year-old. (Please don't flame me because of this bit!)

Thanks for reading, and reviews are always appreciated!


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